


a requiem for broken blood

by Alecellent



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Antarctic Empire, Gen, Loyalty, Philza Minecraft Needs a Hug (Dream SMP), Platonic Relationships, Reconciliation, Technoblade Needs a Hug (Dream SMP)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29906553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alecellent/pseuds/Alecellent
Summary: Forgiveness is bitter work. It tastes like shattered bonds and smoke, all acrid what-ifs and rubble.Phil refuses to regret saving Techno.But he'll pay for it through mouthfuls of ash.
Relationships: Technoblade & Philza Minecraft (Dream SMP)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 69





	a requiem for broken blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [findingkairos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/findingkairos/gifts).
  * Inspired by [then you’re left in the dust](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29882661) by [findingkairos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/findingkairos/pseuds/findingkairos). 



> this is a sequel to findingkairos's "then you're left in the dust", i blow a kiss to anyone who helped me brainstorm this, thank you very much

The quiet is the most damning part.

Not the side glares. Not the guilt. It’s the silence that blankets over the encampment- rushed murmurs abruptly hushed as he passes by. Phil’s never been a social person, per say, but even he remembers when the guild used to be full of chatter.

Now, people hardly say a word. The crunch of freshly fallen snow underfoot is the only sound, and even that seems muted in the oppressive air.

Phil understands he won’t be trusted. Hardly expects to be liked, after the stunt he’s pulled. But it was them against Technoblade, and he refuses to feel bad- not when the Ender King had looked at him with those hollow violet eyes and asked him to _choose_. He knows the price he’ll pay for this, knows that he’ll never be forgiven. But he watches Technoblade sweep across camp- cold, angry, but most of all _alive_ , and he knows he’d do it again.

That night, Phil wakes with a start. Nightmares are nothing unusual- such is the life when at war, particularly when unfortunate enough to only have one life. Even so, this one is an old dream, one that hasn’t come back to haunt Phil in years. He breathes steadily through his teeth, and grits against the feeling of feathers, mottled black and coated with starlight, forming, _growing_ between the hollow spaces of his shoulder blades.

He understands this is an honor. Understands this is the universe’s gift to him. But he can’t help keening anyways, can’t help thinking _no, no this isn’t worth it, not this, anything but this_. But it is worth it. He knows it is. He knows if he bares it, endures the pain, this will be worth everything and more. 

Phil grimaces against the cold, and reaches out a hand to his left to find someone. Techno, a guard, anyone who can stop the pain. His fingers brush up against something on the floor- Techno’s cloak surely, the man even sleeps with it on no matter how many times Phil’s told him it’s bad for the fabric, if he just pulls on it maybe-- 

Ah.  
Just an empty bedroll.  
Right. 

Technoblade doesn’t share Phil’s tent anymore, and he’s guarded 24/7 in case he shows any more signs of betrayal. Phil lets out a slow breath through gritted teeth, and runs a hand down his back, his fingers meeting downy covert feathers. 

His wings are still there. They’ve long since finished growing. Despite it all- the wars and the scars and the injuries, Phil’s wings remain firmly adhered to his back. He runs his hands through ruffled flight feathers, primaries, fingertips running over the glossy patches of scar tissue underneath. A glanced blow here, a barely dodged explosion there. Rows and rows of keloid from a lifetime of surviving. 

He remembers being grounded for months while recovering, remembers the slow, painful process as feathers slowly overgrew the damaged areas. Even now the scars remain, just barely hidden under a layer of feathers. Phil knows that healing takes time- knows that wounds never truly go away. Even still, his wings are still there, gifted by the universe, an honor that he’d protect with his life. He can hardly remember a time before them, certainly wouldn’t trade them for the world, even now as Technoblade holds him under threat of taking them away. All things considered, they’re the most important things in Phil’s life. 

He wonders what it would take to sever them for good.

* * *

When it comes down to it, Phil’s role in the guild doesn’t change much. In a situation where there were more soldiers to work with, he imagines that his position would be very different. As it stands, most of the guild is made of noncombatants- tailors, enchanters, all people who have likely never wielded a sword in their life, and all people Phil sent to die. He doesn’t feel as guilty about that as he thinks he should.

Regardless, it means that he finds himself attending war meetings still. He’s no longer seated at Techno’s side (that space is occupied by Calvin now) but he still gives some input, contributes to aerial maneuvers and general scouting. That’s not to say his word is trusted- more often than not his plans are discarded, and he receives sharp looks for speaking up- but he gives his insight anyway, because when it comes down to it, he, and Technoblade, and all of the other combatants here know he’s the best flier in the group. And no one is a fool enough to turn down free advice.

Even so, it means that meetings clear out far quicker than they had before. After decisions are made, there’s a rush of stony faces leaving the tent, and Phil finds himself longing to play cards again with Sophie, or cook dinners with Tapl, or for some sort of lost camaraderie.

That’s not fair. He knows that’s not fair. Phil made his choice, and he can’t wallow in his own pity, not when he doesn’t truly regret it. He regrets hurting Technoblade, and he regrets betraying the guild. The rest of it, the _sacrifice_ , he can’t truly find in himself to remorse. It wouldn’t do well for a survivalist to second guess his every action. Phil made a decision to save Technoblade. He can’t turn back on that now.

In his musing, Phil hadn’t noticed the meeting tent clearing out. He’s alone now, except for Technoblade, who sits at the head of the table, surrounded by maps and strategies. 

There’s a moment where Phil forgets. Techno (Technoblade, his brain corrects) is hunched over himself in the way he always is when he’s stressed, shoulders drawing a stern line of tension across his back. Phil’s always prided himself on thinking before he acts, but he’s been proving a track record of failures recently, so it’s only a halfhearted surprise when he finds himself reaching a hand out towards Technoblade, the words already falling out of his mouth. 

“Tech, you’ve been working yourself too hard”

He isn’t surprised by the flinch. Isn’t surprised by the way Technoblade’s hands still. He knows the weight of trust, and burden of betrayal, and he bears both willingly upon his shoulders. So when Technoblade stands to leave without acknowledging him, he refuses to let himself feel bad. 

Even so, he can’t seem to make himself put his arm down.

* * *

It’s a dance of sorts, Phil supposes. For every half step forward he takes, Technoblade takes a quarter step back. The pariah, the martyr, and the lives in between. Because really, that’s what this is. It’s not that Phil’s talked to the Ender King (though Technoblade certainly isn’t happy about that), and it’s not that Phil messed up (though that is certainly also true). It’s that he willingly sacrificed the lives of others for Technoblade without a single thought. The fact that they both know he would do it again. It’s not the first time Phil’s been reckless in his worry- far from it. But this is the first time he’s gambled with anything other than his own life, and that scares Technoblade, scares the people around him. Because Phil smiles, and talks, and he’s friends with everyone- how could he, how could _he_ do this? 

But Phil's spent longer in hardcore than any respawn server. He’ll do anything to survive. Phil knows this, and Technoblade knows this, and they both understand that he’ll raze it all to the ground to save his heart. So they dance. Half step forward. Quarter step back. All the lives in between.

* * *

Phil is woken from a dead sleep by the sound of his tent flap opening, his hand already reaching out for the dagger by his bedside. When his hand meets empty air, there’s a brief moment of panic before recollection, a flash of memories that has him remembering the process of handing Technoblade each of his weapons just a few days prior. Phil blinks off the haze of instinctual defense just in time to watch Tapl scowl at him, his hand still clutched around the memory of a knife, and he winces slightly before shaking it off. 

“Hey mate. What d’you need.”

Tapl’s scowl deepens. “Techno’s missing. Figured _you_ might know where he is.”

“I thought I couldn’t be trusted.”

”You can’t.” Tapl shoots back, and Phil refuses to flinch. “But you’ve still known the boss longer than most of us. Doesn’t take trust to know that. We need him back before it’s night- there’s a supply shortage that he’ll want to take a look at. And you” Tapl shoves a pair of hiking boots at Phil “are gonna help us find him.”

Phil clutches the boots in his hands and stares at Tapl. They’ve baked bread together, fought side by side to establish this guild. There’s none of that in his eyes right now, just cold cinders and an overwhelming sense of hurt. “Sure thing, mate” he says. “Whatever you need.”

Phil supposes Tapl was right about one thing- he knows all of Technoblade’s hideaways. Maybe not the new ones he’s sure Technoblade’s made after his betrayal, but the familiar ones tucked away in snowy coves that Phil still thinks fondly of, even if those memories are tinged with guilt.

So when he finds Technoblade within the first half hour, he isn’t exactly surprised. As he approaches, Technoblade’s hand tenses on his sword, and Phil fights back a flinch. “They need you back at camp, mate. Tapl is asking you to go over supply plans.”

When he remains silent, Phil repeats “Technoblade, they need you at camp-”

“Do you think” Technoblade says slowly, “That I’m too weak to handle myself?”

Phil leans back on his heels. “Course not. I’ve seen you fight.”

“Then why” he says, “did you make a deal with the Ender King.”

Phil exhales slowly. He had a feeling that was what this was about. “Mate” he begins. “The Ender King had a bounty out for your head. You better than anyone else should know that his armies can’t be underestimated, and I wasn’t going to take that risk.”

“You could’ve spared anyone there, y’know. Sky. Jabber. Jillian. Any one of them would’ve been better choices”

“But they’re not you.” Phil responds

“ _Exactly!_ ” Technoblade starts to pace “ _I_ know how to fight. They don’t”

“Mate, it was for your own good-”

“ _I trusted you!_ ” Technoblade whirls around to face Phil, teeth bared. “I trusted you, and _they_ trusted you, and you nearly got them _killed!_ ” 

“ _There was nothing else I could do!_ ” Phil cries, because there wasn't, not really, not when it’s Techno. “It was them or you mate, and I made a _choice._ ”

“The wrong one” he snarls. “I can take care of myself. You _of all people_ know that. We had noncombatants in camp, people who came to us looking for a better home and you sent _knives for their throats._ I could have handled it. _They-_ ” and Technoblade sweeps a hand out towards the encampment, where in the setting sun, campfires were beginning to light “ _can’t!_ And you sent all of them to the slaughter.”

Phil pauses, tries to find the words to explain himself. “You know” he says finally, “better than anyone, that the people in the guild are my friends. You also know that they can’t be underestimated. Even the noncombatants can hold their own, better than most. But when it comes down to it, I was offered a choice. They told me I could only save one, and I chose you. And I don’t regret that.”

“I know.” says Techno. “I don’t think I can forgive you for it.”

Phil has nothing to say to that. They stand in silence as the sun sets behind the hill, casting the encampment in everlengthening shadows, and remain there until Techno gets up to leave, brushing off the snow clinging to him.

Phil alone watches as he weaves between the sycamores, and disappears into camp.

* * *

When Phil sleeps, he dreams of purple eyes. He’s at the Well, and the Ender King is curling above the brackish water, his eyes flashes of amethyst that catch on the surrounding obsidian. The Ender King hisses in his ear, _choose one, you only get to spare one,_ but Phil is surrounded by the people he loves, and he’s staring at Jabbers, staring Tapl, staring at a guild of people who he swore to help. _Only one_ , the Ender King whispers, and Phil is saying his name before he even has a chance to think.

 _As you wish_ the King responds, and the encampment sets ablaze. His hands are bloody, and the sky is red, and Phil is screaming, his home turning to ash. The Ender King’s armies tear down the tents, set the garden in flames, and through it all, Technoblade stands still, staring at him as if waiting for an answer.

Phil wishes he had one to give.

* * *

The peace that Phil buys with bloody lives doesn’t last nearly long enough. The guild’s been making preparations since his betrayal had been discovered, doubling down on armor and food. Each day passes with increasing tension, and when Phil wakes to see black banners in the distance, he nearly laughs. 

He doesn’t. He already knows the reputation he holds. But it doesn’t make the incoming army any less morbidly amusing. Because Phil knew the Ender King had attacked the encampment, but he had figured that was the end of it. But of course, Phil would be the one to make a difficult decision only to have it mean nothing in the end. Only he could draw blood out of a whetstone. There are small boons though. With the Ender King so near, Phil finally has a chance to stick a sword in the old bastard for all he’s done. For all the god’s talks of ‘oaths’, Phil can’t help but feel as if he’s the only one paying.

He’s paying again when it comes to arming himself right now. He still has his armor, but his weapons were taken from him, and the guild can only spare (or perhaps, is only willing to spare) a crooked iron sword, rusted over and gritty with filth. That’s fine. Phil’s worked with worse. But he can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy watching Nesterio wield Benihime instead of his typical longbow. 

Oh well.

Phil supposes an iron sword will hurt just as bad as a netherite one, planted clean between the Ender King’s ribs.

The fight starts well. For all the posturing Phil does about how few fighters live in the guild, they still are a force to be reckoned with. Beyond that, each of them, even Phil with his shoddily made gear, are individually skilled fighters that count for no less than three men each. 

Even so, as time passes, the fighting grows bitter. The Ender King’s forces are endless, and even if they weren’t, Phil’s betrayal had caused a skirmish that used up many of the stock piled resources. Phil finds himself falling back, even as he and the others continue to fight.

The one exception to this is Technoblade. He continues to press forward, and Phil has to fight back the brief instinct to follow, to fall in tandem with him. It’s not his place- not anymore. 

From this vantage point, it looks like a losing war. The forces are flooding in from between the trees, the glint of dark armor replacing the white of snow. There’s Sophie falling back to carry a wounded Nesterio, (who tosses Phil Benihime- there’s one thing to be said, he supposes: war makes allies out of traitors) and an equally injured Wisp limping forward to replace him. Their hopes lay pinned on Technoblade, who’s engaged the Ender King directly- out of some desire to stem the tide, Phil supposes.

Should Phil be in a better position, he would tell Technoblade off for it. Despite the nicknames of a bloody god, Technoblade is still frighteningly mortal. Phil knows this- it’s why he made his deal in the first place. But he’s also not a fool. He knows his faults and he knows his place. He won’t make the same mistake twice.

But of course, Phil would be the one to make a difficult choice only to regret it. Only he could be a fool in twice the manner. Because Technoblade and Phil have built loyalty through years side by side, and you don’t fight alongside someone for years without learning to fight _with_ them. So Technoblade takes a half step forward, and Phil’s not there to take a quarter step back, and the Ender King’s sword is aimed right at a blind spot, right at a weak point that _Phil should be covering_ and Technoblade falls. 

It’s not dramatic. It should be. But it isn’t.

Technoblade rears back and swings at the Ender King, but at that point, it’s too late- the King has stepped back and Techno’s bleeding red onto the snow. Phil dives down towards them, but Techno’s already half slumped, bracing himself with his sword, and the Ender King’s forces are already falling back, disappearing back into the snow in wisps of violet smoke. Phil follows Techno, but he’s already too late.

When Techno falls forward, and Phil is only quick enough to catch him before he lands.

**Author's Note:**

> for the folks who joined me for homestuck: yes i jumped ship directly from one cringey fandom to another. this is what the experts like to call "brain disease", and it's terminal.
> 
> for the folks who only know of me through dream smp: i'm so sorry please look away.


End file.
